7,400 Miles on Foot: Reflections on Tackling the Triple Crown of American Hiking

Written by: Carey "Beerman" Kish

Carey Kish of Mount Desert Island, Maine is a tireless hiker, trail maintainer, hiking and beer writer, and the author of three books, including Beer Hiking New England, Best Day Hikes Along the Maine Coast, and the Maine Mountain Guide.

 

 

Hemmed in by steep mountain walls, the windswept beach at the southern end of Upper Waterton Lake is quite a scene. I stand there for long moments, my eyes scanning the western shore to where I figure the border swath to be, 4 trail miles ahead. The end is, literally and figuratively, almost in sight. I feel disoriented and even a little numb.  

 

I amble over to the adjacent ranger station, and, with a surprising two bars of cell service, call the phone number posted on the door. With passports in hand, my companions Amy and Gavin, hikers from the United Kingdom I’ve been friends with since New Mexico, and I, complete the check-in process with Canadian Border Services.   

 

We shoulder our packs and strike off, quickly reaching a calf-deep ford across the Waterton River. Soon after, my pace slows and I lose sight of my pals on the winding path through golden groves of aspen. My body and mind are on auto-pilot, but the sight of a small dock snaps me back to reality, and I know for sure that I can’t be far.  

 

Turning a corner, I enter a small clearing and step across the international boundary from Montana into Alberta. It’s midafternoon on September 23. The long, hard, beautiful journey on the Continental Divide Trail from Mexico to Canada is done. Six months and 2,600 miles through some of the wildest, loneliest, most rugged terrain in the Lower 48.  

 

Kish and his trail friends at the Canadian border, September 2024. 

 

Amy and Gav greet me with big hugs and happy tears. And I’m thrilled to find three other CDT friends here as well. Even though Near-Miss, 9-to-5 and Early Bird had departed camp a solid hour before us this morning and are much faster hikers, they nevertheless decided to wait up so we could all celebrate the big finish together.  

 

The 45 minutes spent around the concrete monument are a blur. There are the obligatory photos, of course. And a skimpy lunch from empty food bags. Amy produces a Burger King crown found at the hostel in East Glacier Park Village, and implores both 9-to-5 and me to pose with the silly but traditional headpiece. We dutifully comply.  

 

I’ve never allowed myself to think much about the “Triple Crown,” the recognition bestowed upon hikers who have completed America’s “Big Three” trails. But with the Appalachian Trail (2015), the Pacific Crest Trail (2019) and now the CDT in the can—a grand total of 7,400 miles over a collective 19 months—I guess it’s okay to finally say that, well, yeah, I did that.  

 

Kish on PCT, 2019.

Kish finishes the CDT, 2024.

Kish finishing the AT, 2015.

 

It’s another 4 miles into Waterton Lakes, where we commandeer the bar of a swanky waterfront restaurant in true hiker-trash style. A four-hour festival of eating, drinking and general mischief-making commences. The following day, with wistful smiles, we bid adieu and scatter across the globe, me in the direction of home in Maine.   

 

The CDT threads through some amazing backcountry, places that most people will never get to see. Standouts for me included the Bootheel and the Gila National Forest in New Mexico, Colorado’s Collegiate Peaks and Mt. Zirkel wilderness areas, the Great Divide Basin and Wind River Range in Wyoming, and Montana’s Bob Marshall Wilderness and Glacier National Park.     

 

For days and weeks on end, I walked and camped alone. Solitude aplenty. I loved the feeling and grew wildly comfortable with it. There just aren’t a lot of people out there on the CDT. When I did encounter other hikers, I was always thrilled, and happy to have some company for a brief moment or two, or even better, for a few treasured days and nights.   

 

The simplicity of the daily routine was addictive. Food, shelter, clothing—the basic necessities—they’re all on your back, wherever you go. Wake, eat, break camp. Walk, eat, walk, eat. Breathe deep. Look around a lot. Think about things, or not. Pitch camp, eat, sleep. Repeat until one day you run out of trail. The CDT is raw freedom.  

 

Every long-distance hiker needs support to be successful. I was blessed with the assistance of my wife, Fran, who tagged along by vehicle and met me about once a week. There were also many beautiful trail angels, along the trail, along the roads, and in the trail towns. My heart is full of their kindness, generosity, camaraderie and laughter.   

 

Most every CDT hiker—it doesn’t matter whether you’re  65, 45 or 25—gets worn down by the long journey. The major culprit, most will admit, is Colorado, with its high elevation, huge elevation gains, heavy-duty exposure, and snowpack. In the end, though, it’s the cumulative effect of the daily bodily abuse that has tired hikers wobbling to the finish line.   

 

Woodrow Wilson Sayre, author of the 1964 book, “Four Against Everest,” wrote of mountain climbing, risk and pushing one’s limits: “… This is not to say that you deliberately try something you know you can’t do. But you do deliberately try something which you are not sure you can do.” So it was with the CDT. I’m glad I did it, but the experience tested my limits like nothing else could.    

 

As for the Triple Crown thing, well, it wasn’t part of the original plan. The Appalachian Trail in 2015 was supposed to be a one-and-done adventure, but even before I was through, I had already begun scheming and dreaming of another long hike. I tackled the Pacific Crest Trail in 2019, and at that point decided I couldn’t very well leave the CDT on the table. 

 

I’ve often read that it takes 5 million steps to hike the entire Appalachian Trail. By virtue of that math, I figure the tally for AT, PCT, and CDT is somewhere in the neighborhood of 17.5 million steps. To be sure, I’ve taken every one of those long-distance steps in LOWA boots. Eight pairs of Renegade GTX Mids in all—two on the AT, three on the PCT, and three on the CDT. With zero blisters. You stick with what works, and LOWA works for me.

 

Kish's first pair of LOWA's on the CDT went for more than 1,000 miles.

 

What’s next? Something more civilized, if you will. Like a pilgrimage on the Camino de Santiago, from Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port in France, over the Pyrenees, across the north of Spain to Santiago de Compostella, and on to the Atlantic Ocean at Finisterre. I’m allowing a leisurely six leisurely weeks next spring to saunter the 550-mile distance. I can’t wait.